Land of the Free
by NCR Ranger
Summary: Let no enemy get in the way of our right to live freely, and to be armed.
1. Chapter 1

_Chzzm !_

The red lights came on, and flooded the troop bay of the Skyranger with a ruby red glow.

Usually, as far as most of us are concerned, when red lights come on, that means ' stop', ie, at the countless traffic lights that adorned every intersection in the world. That was usually when most folks were greeted by red lights, and without thinking, they knew at once what to do: stop.

Even now, in this day and age with ADVENT having replaced every nation's government, and established itself as the dominant ( and only, actually ) government on Earth,. red lights continued to be symbols of warning, and caution. Owning a personal vehicle wasn't an option for most ( what with the ' background ' checks that ADVENT dropped on everyone who wanted one ), but even for those who did, there were still red lights at intersections, albeit different than what one would expect ; there were now towers, not really ' lights at all. They were topped with biometric scammers, atop tall, skinny metal frames, and they glowed red from the prominently mounted ID scanners on them. They were as ubiquitous as the traffic lights they'd replaced, and they still commanded everyone to stop with a blood red light.

But, none of that applied to the occupants of the Skyranger.

They weren't citizens of the glittering ADVENT population centers ( which nobody in XCOM considered to be cities anyway, not like how glorious ones like Dubai and Dallas had been- just a conglomerate of OCD levels of neatness, and obscene advertisements )

They were _XCOM._ To them, red lights stood for something quite different.

As XCOM soldiers, they lived every day aboard the metal confines of a Skyranger. Hours during each one, riding in the troop bays of them, the troops had grown accustomed to red lights, signalling that it was time to _drop_. That they were over the target, and now, they were to stand, get their gear, check it one final time, and then grab the rappel lines would carry them them down to the ground.

Down to mortal combat with ADVENT, and their alien puppet-masters. That's why they all felt that good kind of adrenaline rush when the red lights shone.

Time to boost their kill count. Time to get to grips with their enemy, and destroy them utterly. When it came to battle, neither side ever took prisoners.

All this was fresh on the minds of the squad now. They were some of XCOM's most experienced soldiers, each with at least a dozen combat ops to their names. They'd done this before, and they'd gotten their routine down to a ' T '. Every op was different from the last, with their own unplanned problems, surprises and encounters. Going exactly according to plan was more of a rarity than predictable.

But, they all began with that red lights, coming on, and turning the whole compartment red.

Red for them, was another word for ' action. '

There were 5 of them along for this action: 2 riflemen, one corpsman, one sniper, and a grenadier. It was a textbook sized fireteam, callsign ' Havoc '.

The riflemen were Russian, and brothers. Nikolas and Drayan Sherdenko were tall, broad shouldered, bearded men, who didn't speak much, but tended to get everyone's attention when they did. Both wore grey-black, Russian digital camo, with Nikolas-the older one and taller- sporting a Ushanka hat with the XCOM logo on the front. Both were armed with AN-94 assault rifles, XCOM built X-95 Gauss handguns, and thermite grenades.

The team corpsman was a small stature Australian woman named Tamara Maren. Brunette, with a light dusting of freckles across her nose, she resembled an Australian rancher, which she actually had been, before ADVENT rose, and smothered the continent ( and world ) with their empire. Clad in cargo trousers, a belt with a noticeable buckle, and a zipped up jacket, she also had a necklace with a dingo's tooth hanging from it. Her weapon, a 6.8mm M6A2, hung by its carrying strap at her side, along with a few shrapnel grenades, and spare medical spray dispensers. Though she was ready, more than willing, and able to use it, she preferred to leave the combat to the men. She was here to patch them up, anyway.

The sniper. Another Russian: Zwyak Chenov. He'd not spoekn much either after they'd taken off from the Avenger, preferring to stay seated at the far end of the bay. With his HK214 rifle propped up beside him, his face had shrouded by a hood, and the dark, digital camouflage he wore blended well into the shadows of where he was.

And then, there was the grenadier. Fittingly an American, George McRobb. A burly, lumberjack looking man, he filled a big part of the bay. With his prominent mustache, tigerstripe camouflage uniform, and Milkor MGL, he was quite obviously the heavy weapons man. C4 bundles, ready to be affixed to just about any surface, hung from his demo pack. Personally, he considered any fight that didn't involve reckless and unrestrained use of high explosives to hardly be a fight at all. Still, the use of any explosives at all was better than nothing.

They were all, some of XCOM's most dangerous fighters, if their track records were anything to indicate. Alltogether between them, they had accounted for over 100 confirmed dead ADVENT solider, and Xenos as well. This was all just par for the course for 5 of them. They looked forward to every encounter, no matter how chatoic or confusing they inevitably turned out to be.

Especially ones like this.

One that had taken them to where the Skyranger was currently blazing over. A small, improvised town deep in the South American jungle. Populated by those with the common sense to abandon the ADVENT population centers, they considered their settlements to the last remnants of the glorious lost cities, like Warsaw, or Atlanta ( why anyone would prefer the countryside is beyond me ) that had once dotted the Earth. They were humble, but meticulously crafted places, a mix of large vehicles parked and arranged to function as buildings, and assembled structures built from what materials could be salvaged or brought in from the surrounding countryside. Against such a backdrop, the most technologically advanced structure in town, would be the looming Comms towers, which had to be powerful enough to contact other free towns, and of course, the Avenger.

Strength for those who still valued freedom, came from staying united.

Which was why the Skyranger was here now. Functioning as a true armed response- 911 responders with guns, so to speak-, the call sent out from this settlement had been heard by the Avenger, and a Skyranger had been swiftly dispatched. That was the unspoken, but deeply respected and coveted agreement between XCOM, and the free towns they'd reached out to, was that the latter could always count of XCOM to be there when they were called.

Here was proof how treasured that bond was.

ADVENT forces were attacking the town. The ' Jabberers ', as everyone referred to them as, on account of how they spoke in unintelligible babbling, were at it again, committing a full scale ' cleansing ' of the place. Under ADVENT, if you didn't accept their rule, you were marked for death- as the locals here were finding out the hard way. They wanted their independence, and their freedom, especially their right to be armed.

Well, Havoc Squad- the assembled vets- weren't taking _that_ lying down. They were _here_ , and they could put a stop to it. These ADVENT goons and their Xeno ilk were about to get their own taste of their medicine.

And if they didn't like it, then it'd be crammed down their throats.

" Over the LZ ! ", announced the Skyranger pilot, Emilla ' Foehammer' Rawley . " Here's your stop, Havoc ! "

" Go save those folks ! "

On cue, rappelling cables descended from the section of the ceiling that hung out over the edge the floor.

The main ramp/ door of the bay had descended to allow them, and through the newly formed opening, Havoc could the lush, emerald jungle that rolled out like a carpet over the whole landscape, out to the horizon, under a heavy layer of clouds that looked like they were ready to unload a torrent of rain at any moment. A river, wide, blue, and flowing, definitely better than a mere creek, wove like a cobalt ribbon through the foliage.

Sitting snugly at the crux of a bend in the river, was a town built from the ground up to be lived in, not a desolate, too-quiet countryside habitat.

New Brasilia was its name.

Central Officer Bradford had informed them as such over the Avenger's PA system as Havoc was mustering to board the Skyranger, reminding them to pack bug spray, and a some extra water ( " If ADVENT doesn't gun you down, the local bugs will do what they can to finish the job. Man, I miss the cities " ).

His amusingly dry commentary had the squad chuckling, but they still knew it would end up being that way. Ordinarilly, it would look inviting and quaint, even welcoming, despite being a bit shabby. But, at the moment, it was burning. Multiple fires were raging all over town, and even from a distance, the muzzle flashes of ADVENT Gauss rifles could be seen.

Exterminating the locals. They were fighting back, as evidenced by other muzzle flashes here and there, but they couldn't last without XCOM's assistance.

They'd die otherwise. That could not be allowed to happen, not on XCOM's watch.

" Deploying ! Davai, davai ! "

The Russian brothers moved first, racing to the rappel lines, seizing them, and then sliding out of view.

Russians, actually, as Chenov, close behind them already, was next to leave the bay.

Then, McRobb's tuen came. He was fast for someone one his size, and even managed to slide down one handed, the other keeping his grenade launcher out and ready.

Finally, Maren deployed. She clutched the necklace once, aiming to forget her dislike of heights, before putting it aside, and hurrying out to get to the ropes.

Seconds later, all of them were on the ground. The grass was buffeted and whipped by the heated downdraft of the Skyranger's engines. The air was as warm and humid as it should be in the Amazon, at the height of summer no less.

" Hmph. You can _drink_ the air here ", McRobb scoffed. " Least its not the mountains. That's too cold. "

Maren was still getting upright, having fallen a bit by touching down fast.

" Same here. I'll take deserts , any day of the week ", she concurred, while checking that her M6A4 was intact, and all her invaluable medical spray dispensers were still attached.

McRobb grinned, pleased, but then, one of the Russians- they all kind of looked alike- interrupted.

" Small talk can wait ", the one with the HK ordered. " We have our mission: Nikolas and Drayan, take the point. McRobb, Maren. You two, cover me while I take the high ground. Dvai, everyone, there is no time to spare. "

Chenov was the field commander of their unit, after all. Russian command style, yes, but it worked. Some of the squad said it was because he was a sniper; that long term way of looking at things was a good trait for a leader to have, which was why ( or partially at least ).

They _listened._

" Sir ! ", the brothers replied, and set off toward the outskirts of town, combat spread, rifles up.

McRobb hefted his launcher, and looked out at Maren, who was flicking the selector switch to burst.':

Ready to provide med support, sir ! ", she told Chenov.

" Same here ! ", McRobb added. " Full grenade load ".

Chenov regarded them for a moment, but then nodded, and gestured for them to go on, drawing his weapon.

" Stay alert. "

" ADVENT bleeds today. "


	2. Battle has no rules

Outskirts of New Brasilia.

 _Watch your corners_

 _Watch the high ground_

 _Don't hug corners_

 _Don't go down the middle of streets_

The basic principles of urban combat, easily the most challenging form of it. Within the confines of and restraints of a city, or town, the maze of streets, boulevards and alleys, and the blocks of buildings and structures, the opposing armies couldn't maneuver as they wanted. Instead, they'd now be forced along specific paths; they might be separated by just one block, and not know it, but also know that the enemy would likely have to move down the same road to find them.

It was close-in, unpredictable, and prone to unplanned encounters, where a squad or platoon would run face first into its enemy within the same building, _one_ floor up from them, or getting fired from _both_ sides of rows of buildings. In such fighting, the semblance of a real ' front line ' was often lost.

As the Battle of Stalingrad had proven, attacking a fortified city was a perilous endeavor, to say the least. There were too many opportunities for your forces to be ambushed, too many places for your enemies to take cover. If you were going to commit your forces to urban combat, you had to know all of that. You had to trade boldness for caution, and aggression for meticulousness. Even then, you were virtually guaranteed to take significant to heavy losses.

Without that, though, you were doomed to fail.

Havoc squad understood this. They were no rookies, and as soon as their boots hit the Earth, they were already putting their minds into that framework; how to live, not just fight, when in an urban setting.

On the outer edge of town, Nikolas and Drayan were doing just that. A light, cool drizzle had begun to fall on them, as they wove their way through a roughly grid like layout of huts, forming one of the residential districts of New Brasilia. The small houses were simply built, out of bricks and drywall, with sloped metal roofs to drain off rain, such as what was falling now. The foliage around them- bushes, short trees, and dangling vines- had been allowed to grow and flourish, providing a form of privacy for each one.

In this case, they were good cover as well.

The Russians negotiated that maze, AN-94s at their shoulders. They forged a path through the vegetation without creating too much noise. So far, most of the Gauss- and conventional- rifle fire was coming from further into town, but not sweeping every section of it would be a fatal error.

On Cyvak's orders, they'd entered the housing district, and where clearing it house by house. There was always the chance, for example, that a _Chrysalid_ might've hidden itself under the floor of one of the houses, the pesky ( and exceptionally lethal ) ambushers. Even if there weren't any, no ADVENT or Xeno could be allowed to exist anywhere, especially here. XCOM had trained its squads, including Havoc, to be nothing if not thorough.

They would ensure that _every_ hostile in New Brasilia was dead. They wouldn't leave until that was done.

 _Eeerrrak !_

A warbling, piercing shriek suddenly cut through the air.

Unmistakable.

The Russians paused, just past a clump of jungle growth, out pretty much in the open on one of the ' streets '. They'd been moving to cross to the other row of huts, but that shriek had them stopping.

It was the shriek of a Chrysalid, no question.

One of them was _here._ At _least_ one.

But, one could be all that was needed. Chryalids were the quickest of the Alien soldiers XCOM had ever faced, even 20 years ago in the first invasion. Skittering along on their spider-like legs, the salivating creatures would rear up to dig their scythe front claws into the chest of whomever they were attacking. The dead individual would barely have hit the ground, before the Chrysalid would then plant a form of itself into the corpse of its victim, ' Alien ' style, thus turning them into yet another Chrysalid in the astonishingly short span of only a few minutes.

And they hunted in _packs_. Only one had been heard, but there had to be more. There simply had to be.

Drayan swore quietly in Russian.

" The puak-zvers ( spider-beasts ), they're here ", he muttered. " That's not good ".

Nikolas thought along similar lines, but he didn't say anything. No matter how tense the mention of the word ' Chrysalid ' stuck him, he preferred to face them, rather than seek to avoid them. After all, they had an uncanny knack for finding anyone who was hiding from them.

The only thing to do was press on, and stay on the highest level of alert. If any of the puak-zvers did appear, they'd deal with them properly; draw them forward, then use their grenades. Still, having a plan didn't detract from how perilous it was to encounter them in the field, which was why Nikolas understood Drayan's tension.

" For us, or them ? ", he remarked.

" Both, I suppose. Still,-"

" Let go, you vermin ! "

Well, that just added to everything. Someone was yelling, in Spanish accented English, from a house across from their current position.

" No, you- ! "

Someone was clearly in trouble, and perhaps more importantly, they were close by.

Nikolas, in the lead, turned toward the source of the noise; a hut across the path from them, with a tattered, but proudly clean flag of Brazil flying from a pole mounted in front of it.

" Ready to close on target ? ", he asked aloud, in Russian. It was rhetorical, of course, but protocol and experience weren't things that could be easily turned off. Room clearing was the hardest aspect of urban warfare, and none of them would begin without doing it by the book.

By rote. Besides, if his brother had just been spooked by the knowledge that there were Chryssalids in the area ( perhaps the only thing about the Xenos that could do that do him ), falling back on doing things crisply by the numbers was just the thing to counter

" Yes. Yes, I am ready ", Dryan checked that the selector switch on his weapon was set to burst, which it was.

" Good to know its not just Chryssalids we have to deal with ", he added, somewhat relived.

" I'll take the front ", Nikolas told him, drawing his X-95, and gesturing toward the hut. " You approach from the right".

" Roger that "

More sounds of scuffling and struggling emanated from inside the hut, punctuated by a long string of Jabberer speech: unintelligible sounds that only vaguely sounded like talking.

" &$* ! "

Well, someone wasn't taking ADVENT intrusion well. The Russians neared the hut, Nikolas going up the middle, Drayan flanking it to the right.

Didn't sound as if there were any Xenos there, but better not to take chances.

The hut, though it was hardly a feat of architecture, did have one window, conveniently on its right. Nikolas gestured again for Drayan to head there, while he stacked on the wooden front door. He'd kick it in, and the moment he did, Drayan would beach the window, and they'd catch any hostiles inside in a crossfire.

Fast and lethal.

" Look in first. Call out what's in there ".

" Ok, Got it ".

Drayan disappeared around the corner of the hut, while Nikolas pressed against the door's edges, X-95 out. He ensured that it was chambered with flammable rounds.

 _' Yes Good, just how I want it. They shall burn'._

" Nikolas ! "

Drayan. Calling in over their radio's earpiece.

" Yes ? "

" There's a duo of Jabberers, guarding the homeowner. There's a _Sectoid_ , ugh, as well. "

 _Sectoids._

If Drayan was wary and arguably even nervous around Chryysailds, both of them had a pathological hate for the spindly, leering, pink skinned, skeleton-esque aliens that were known as Sectoids. There was something about them that seemed _too_ alien, even for a Xeno. Perhaps it was that leering mouth, or those gaping, pupiless eyes, but nothing else in the Xeno lineup disgusted them as much as Sectoids. They were worse than the Oceans 8 remake.

And there was one of them, in here ? It had to die first.

" _Where_ is it ? ", Nikolas demanded.

" Its back is to you "

" Good. Leave it to me, but fire on the Jabberers. "

" Alright. Breaching now. "

Nikolau held the X-95 and counted out the seconds, until the moment came.

Until he could exact his revenge yet again on these evil creatures.

1

2

3

 _Krsssh !_

 _Rchht ! Rchhht !_

The sound of shattering glass, and the ratcheting fire of an AN-94 told him, that was now.

" What ?! "

"*(&&## ! "

Nikolai kicked the door open.

He swept around the corner, and took aim at what he found.

The interior of the hut- what was evidently just one of a few rooms- was humble, at best. An array of worn rugs covered the floor from one side to the other, upon which was a collection of equally well used looking furniture; a few chairs, a table, and a couch. A lamp was suspended from the ceiling, filling the space with a soft orange glow. A young woman- no more than 33, quite attractive, with dark hair pinned up, dressed in a tan blouse and red dress- was pressed against one wall, previously at the gunpoint of one of the Jabberer's Gauss rifles.

One of the black armored troops lay dead, its orange blood pooling around it, courtesy of Drayan's shooting. The other one was just turning around, Gauss rifle still not brought to bear.

It didn't get to.

Drayan's next shot caught it in the side, and it died on the spot, even as Nikolas was taking aim at the vile Sectoid.

The pink abomination screeched, and raised its arm, with a plasma blaster mounted on it. Nikolas had seen many of these weapons cut down hundreds of locals at St. Petersburg , when they refused to comply with ADVENT's orders.

It was hot energy vs hot lead.

 _Chrrak !_

The X-95 fired, and a hardened slug was propelled at hypersonic speeds, right into the Sectoid's forehead.

 _Shrkk !_

With a scream, the Xeno toppled, a spurt of orange blood spraying out as it hit the floor.

It was over, just like that. All in the span of a few seconds. It was done, as quick and precise as Havoc squad was used to.

It'd apparently had also quite confused the occupant of the hut, who'd shuffled back into the rear of the hut, while the firefight was raging, and had only now slowly re-entered the front. Eyes widening, in that could easily be either dear, shock, or amazement, she now gaped at her rescuers.

" Clear ", Drayan declared, calling in through the spot where the window was.

" Clear ", Nikolas concurred, as smoke coiled up from the muzzle of his X-95.

He stepped fully into the hut now, still on alert. The ambush had been flawlessly textbook, but they were still in a combat zone.

" Are you allright ? ", he asked the homeowner. " Who are you ? "

The woman blinked, realizing someone was speaking to her, and turned to face Nikolas.

" Mariana", she informed him. Sounding half amazed, half cautious, she continued " Are you XCOM ? "

The gratitude of the those they defended. Nikolas had always been sure they were on the right side, but when the locals expressed hope on their arrival, that reinforced it.

They were the shields of Humanity, not _ADVENT._

" Yes ", he replied, feeling a surge of pride- and satisfaction at getting to play the hero to a lady in distress

" We are ".

The woman's expression now became that of awe, and flawless gratitude.

" Gracias, gracias ", she exclaimed. " Those, things, wanted to drag me away-"

" Puak zvers ! "

A shout from Drayan interrupted the moment.

" Nikolas, 3 of them ! Incoming ! "

The woman's eyes widened.

" More of them ?! "

Nikolas bit his lower lip, gravely determined. Holstered his X-95, and drew his rifle.

" No ", he told her. " _Chryssailds._ Stay here. "

He rushed back outside, and around the side of the house where Drayan was. When he got there, he found his brother standing with AN-94 pointed downrange, gripping it tightly.

As a trio of Chryssailds ran toward them.

They must've emerged from houses further away, and in all likelihood, they were fresh ones, from recently deceased locals. No doubt, that's what ADVENT had planned for Mariana as well.

And for them.

" Come on, come on ", Drayan muttered. " Open up on them, Niko ".

" Not yet. Let them close in. They're close to each other, and I still have a thermite grenade. "

Letting a Chryssaild close in on you took a _lot_ of spine, to say the least. Everyone knew how lethal they were at that range, and it was standard practice to kill them at a distance. Then again, grenades were most effective against groups, and that's what the bugs were moving in.

Still-

" Let them ?! "

Nikolas unclipped a grenade from his web gear, and hefted it.

"Get ready to fire, as soon as I throw mine. Fire and hot lead. We'll kill them all. "

" You sound very sure. "

The Chryssailds were about 30 ft away now.

" Ready ? "

25 ft

" If you are "

15 ft.

" Now ! "

Nikolas lobbed his grenade.

* * *

It was the white armor that gave them away.

ADVENT " Priests ", as they were dubbed. The most psionically adept of ADVENT's army, ' Priests ' were badly misnamed, in XCOM's experience. There was nothing remotely religious about them, aside from how they had the obnoxious tendency to kneel everytime combat was erupted, and utter the Jabberer's language in in whispered and reverent tones. And, the purple, glittering psionis amplifiers they held up as if they were taken from a reliquary

But, what McRobb cared about most, was that their ostentatious. white armor, with the absurd purple trim all over it, just marked them as easy targets.

At the moment, he watched as a trio of them supervised a squad of Purifiers as they marched into the market place, where he'd currently taken cover. Crouched behind a stall piled high with squash ( which actually seemed to be mostly in good shape ), the towering grenadier observed them advance.

None of them had spotted anything that hinted of an ambush. Instead, all they cared for- apparently- was preparing to torch the entire marketplace. The Purifiers , their flamethrowers pilot lights flickering and snapping, were slowly fanning out, setting up form a fan shaped formation that would unleash a conflagration that would reduce the entire market to charred ruins in roughly an hour.

Not of McRobb and his ambush force, a collection of local riflemen whom he'd rounded up as he and Maren had reached the area, had anything to say about it They were placed around the market, all well hidden around the various stalls. Maren was with him, but further back in the area, as it wouldn't do to have the squad's medic too close to imminent contact.

And speaking of contact, that was very soon. The ADVENT patrol was finished forming up, and the priest, predictably, knelt to perform what inane act all of them seemed obligated to perform before combat. As he did, the Purifiers bowed their heads, respectfully waiting for it to be done.

It wouldn't be. Not while XCOM was here.

" All to easy ", McRobb whispered to himself, not bothering to hide a smirk.

It was a grenadier's dream, to have all your targets nicely clustered. All within the immediate blast radius of a 40mm grenade, and those Purifiers had those highly flammable tanks on their backs. It was all set to be a spectacular firestorm.

In 3

2

1

McRobb rose, and fired.

As the 40mm grenade arced toward the assembled group, the rest of the ambush force emulated him, also standing high enough to fire over their cover, unleashing a horizontal shower of bullets toward the ADVENT formation.

The Jabberers only a portion of a second to react, which wasn't anywhere near long enough. The priest screamed something, but that was as far as he got, before the grenade detonated. The explosion was every bit as destructive as McRobb had hoped: a echoingly loud ' _boom_ ' tore the air, mixed with a pillar of roiling fire as the flamethrower tanks on the backs of the Purifiers were set off. Several secondary blasts chained throughout the impact area, flinging all kinds of debris and remains into the air, along with trails of fire.

None of them lived through it. Every last one of them was slain at once, torn asunder and to bits. The assault was over as quickly as it began.

When the echos of the explosions began to fade away, was left was only a raging, crackling fire, covering an area that was roughly the same as where they'd been standing. There was no trace whatsoever of the ADVENT troops.

They'd been erased.

" Picture perfect ! ", McRobb shouted, grinning.

Exclamations of amazement rose from the town guards. From the sounds of it, none of them had witnessed ADVENT forces getting wiped out so swiftly, or with such overwhelming force. They were humble jungle town dwellers, who'd rarely encountered ADVENT forces in groups larger than a squad. They were a tough and capable community, yes, who was armed for a real fight, but still. This was the most action any of them had seen against ADVENT.

And they liked it. McRobb was proud of them for that.

" Anyone need a medic ? ", the Aussie called, lowering her smoking M6.

The locals, a quartet of farmer-looking men all armed with M16A3s or AK-74s, coated in a layer of dust and mud from the grenade blasts, slowly stood from where they'd taken cover, noticed her approach, and shook their heads.

" Ah. Seems I came all the way here for nothing. "

" Don't worry Maren. You'll probably end up patching the Russians at some point ", McRobb assured her soothingly, before turning to address the locals.

" We the XCOM response ", he informed them." Are there more Xenos or Jabberers here ? "

A local with an M14 SOCOM pointed further up the market way.

" We've been hearing a lot of Jabberer talk. Not much for xenos. I think there's more ADVENT ".

That suited McRobb fine. ADVENT, and everyone in it, were nothing but perfidious traitors to him. Sell outs, who lacked the spine to resist the Xenos.

He'd show them what freedom was.

* * *

There was a correlation between a sniper and an artist.

Both looked at a blank slate- an easel, or a battlefield- and thought about how they could change it to their liking, using the assets at their disposal. For the artists , of course, that was their brushes, paint and pencils, etc. They'd draw, shade, and turn something blank into something worth observing.

Snipers, on the other hand, used their _rifles (_ not tools, as some called them ). They presided the field in front of them through their rifle scopes, deciding which of their targets they would slay first. Or, if there were none clearly visible, they would hunt, wait, and keep watching.

By that reasoning, Cyvak was both.

He was currently residing at the top of the town hall- which was really just a crop warehouse that had been converted into the role- clock tower. McRobb and Maren, by his order, had cleared the way for him to get here killing a trio of Mutons guarding the place, who'd already felled the nearby local guards. One of them- a woman about the same stature as Maren- was still alive, albeit with plasma wounds to one leg and a shoulder. The Australian medic tended to her, McRobb covered, and Cyvak proceeded to scale the tower, to secure the perfect vantage point.

And here he was, presiding over everything. He was a master of the field, which, essentially, was what all snipers who occupied the high ground were. As long as the enemy couldn't pinpoint their location, you could rain decimation on them

His HK was chambered with anti-armor, shattering rounds, and his scope was recently polished. He'd been waiting for this moment, though it wasn't his first. That didn't matter.

Every hunt was as good as the last.

Especially when your prey was distracted.

Below, Cyvak watched a squad of Jabberers, led by a captain in full red regalia, exchanging fire with more town guards in the square. The sounds of Gauss fire clashed and mixed with that of the more conventional firearms the locals had. Shouts, in English, in Spanish, and in the intelligible babble that was Jabberer talk could be heard amid the roar of gunfire.

It was all an orchestra to Cyvak.

Peering through the scope, he observed the end of the captain's cape, poking out from behind a tree. The ADVENT officer was sheltering from the incoming fire, but if it had any idea who was watching it, it'd have stayed there for good.

Fortunately , it did not.

The captain leaned out from behind the tree, and raised its Gauss rifle.

It didn't get to fire it.

Cyvak fired first. One second to center his bullseye on the captain's head. One second to check the elevation.

One second, to savor the moment, before firing.

 _Chaark !_

The HK discharged, spent brass shot out, and another second later, the red armored figure was sprawled dead on the ground, head surrounded by a halo of orange.

What a glorious sight.

The locals didn't react with shock- Cyvak had told them beforehand that he would back them up with sniper fire- but the ADVENT contingent was clearly caught by surprise. Jolted by the sneak attack, several of the Xeno-Hybrids glanced around, searching for where the shot had come from. They screeched at each other, and at everyone around them, in anger or frustration. Impossible to know which.

Cyvak didn't care. He just wanted them to die.

 _Chaark ! Chaark ! Chaark !_

As 3 more shots rang out in quick succession, and as 3 more of them toppled dead, with sprays of orange blood, Gauss rifles clattering beside them, they finally seemed to catch on onto they were being targeted from high ground.

One of them pointed up at the clock tower, before being cut down right afterwards by one of the locals- a burst of AK-74 rounds removed its outstretched arm.

As it staggered, off balance, someone threw a grenade. The crushing blast tore the enemy squad to pieces- literally, for some. Bits of ADVENT armor, blood, and limbs soon littered the ground.

Good riddance.

The one armed ADVENT solider was still staggering around, looking for its lost weapon. As it finally knelt to retrieve a fallen Gauss rifle,Cyvak finally put it down with another headshot.

And just like that, it was over.

The square was clear. Smoke still rose from several points around town, but as the silence of the post-battle atmosphere settled, the echos of gunfire were all but gone.

Cyvak pulled back from his scope, feeling disappointment that the shooting was already over. He still had ample stocks of ammo- 4 more clips at the ready0 and the top of the tower was such a good spot. If it didn't endanger the lives of the locals so much, he wouldn't mind another hunt right here and now.

As long as ADVENT existed, he reminded himself, there opportunities for many more hunts, and many more kills. Tomorrow, if not today.

" Sir ? Nikolas here. Our sector is clear. Repeat, our sector is clear. Chryysalid pack exterminated".

" We just routed some hostiles in the marketplace, sir. Flamethrower unit, and a priest. All dead and taken care of. "

His squad reported in, with word of success.

They'd eradicated the enemy in New Brasilia.

The town was free, for now at least, and XCOM had chalked up antoehr win.

All in a day's work.


End file.
